Our dog telegraphs her every emotion, announcing her moods with a range of vocal cues, facial expressions, and overly-dramatic body language. The cats are usually harder to read.
Usually, but not always. Here, for example, the message is clear: “Don’t bother me, I’m mad at you…”
Publication note: My poem “Waking” appears in the new issue of Willows Wept Review. The issue is available in print (by order) or as a free digital download.
Here in the mid-Atlantic, the heat wave has spawned severe thunderstorms two nights in a row. Last night, the lightning was so spectacular that I couldn’t resist trying to catch a few frames.
(This last one convinced me that I had taken more than enough pictures…)
This little Eastern Amberwing dragonfly doesn’t seem to mind the heat, which has me cowering in my air-conditioned office.
I tend to procrastinate, so today is the kind of day I dread. I’m trapped indoors, face to face with a heap of unfinished manuscript submissions and bookkeeping chores. Of course, I could always read a book. Or take a nap. Or both…
The lotus garden near Sandbridge Beach is beginning to bloom. Today I stopped for a few minutes, trying to ignore the ridiculous heat and harsh midday glare.
This weed has always grown in our yard, but I never bothered to look it up because I assumed it was wild strawberry. The little red fruits seemed so distinctive. Yesterday, as I searched for a link to include with this post, I realized that the yellow flowers are all wrong. Wild strawberry should have white flowers. After reading more online and consulting my old wildflower guide, I now believe this is Indian Mock-Strawberry.
(I would love a little help with this one. Please comment with corrections or confirmation!)
Rae Spencer 